


The Grapes of Smarm

by Gnine, XmagicalX (Xparrot)



Series: Literary Smarm [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Food Fight, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-05-26
Updated: 1998-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnine/pseuds/Gnine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/XmagicalX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some grapes, some donuts, and some bored detectives...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grapes of Smarm

**Author's Note:**

> When trying to come up with a name for our other co-authored fic, we came up with this title...and a host of others along a similar theme. Not exactly befitting a "serious" work, but in these trying times we need a few smiles. This is complete fluff, written almost solely because we had _such_ a clever title and needed something to go along with it...hope you enjoy :) If you do, please tell us, 'cuz there are more that could follow...

It was getting late. And boring. Actually the entire day had been pretty dull, especially for the Cascade PD. Usually they were kept active chasing drugrunners and psychopaths and random bad guys. The biggest hardship they were currently facing was hunger.

Blair was satisfying his own appetite with a nice bowl of red grapes. While the various and sundry officers around the bullpen filled out forms and signed slips and gave themselves papercuts, he nibbled the sweet fruit.

Pluck. Toss. Slurp as the grape was expertly caught in his mouth and swallowed.

Jim listened, clenching his jaw and trying not to think of his own growling stomach. If this kept up for much longer he was gonna pluck something of Sandburg's...

Pluck. Toss. Slurp. Pluck. Toss. Smack...

Smack?

"Hey! What 'n hell was that?" came Brown's annoyed shout.

Jim steadfastly refused to look up from the triple-layer document before him. Don't move your eyes, Ellison, just keep signing the form...

"Oops—sorry, man, missed—"

"Sandburg!"

And don't smile, either.

Complete silence for a quarter of a second, broken only by the scritch of his pen. Then—

Poof.

Poof?

"I said I was sorry!" yelped his startled partner.

Jim bit back both laughter and questions. Don't get involved, always a good rule in crisis situations, don't interfere if you can't be of help...

"Well, then, man, take this!" Another tiny wet smack. Oh no.

"Don't start this, man!" Brown's voice. Then, "No fair ducking!"

A small brown Dunkin' Donuts munchkin rolled across Jim's papers, leaving a chocolate trail.

He was about to protest when he heard Connor's heels on the tile. "What are you boys doing? Hey!"

Jim glanced up at her startled exclamation to see her hair dusted with powdered sugar from another munchkin missile dodged by Blair. "Now, really—"

She was promptly beaned by a purple grape.

Which she caught and pitched expertly at the anthropologist, then made a strategic retreat behind Joel's desk.

Captain Taggert growled as three more grapes and another munchkin bounced across his own papers.

Jim casually leaned out of their trajectories and continued writing.

"Rafe! I could use a little backup!" Brown called on his partner. An apple promptly entered the fray.

A banana from Joel's direction soon followed. Things grew a bit messier as Blair took the time to peel it and break it into easy- to-aim chunks.

By now flying food filled the air. Jim had quietly retreated against the wall and out of the warpath, nibbling on his pen cap as he regarded his clipboard. Write your birthdate under line 2-C—

"Jim," rustle as Blair ducked yet another munchkin, "I could use" splat of a sandwich half...bologna or ham?..."a little help!" his partner finished.

Jim pretended to zone out on the yellow sheet. Until the banana peel smacked his forehead.

Enough was enough. Gently placing the clipboard under the closest desk, he crossed over to the anthropologist in three swift steps and with one arm locked Blair in a nifty police hold. With the other he lobbed an available, slightly squished munchkin in Rafe's direction. "All right, that's it."

He used his partner as a human shield as fire came at them from all angles, over said partner's loud protest.

Simon chose that moment to enter the bullpen. "Anyone up for some Chi-" he began.

Joel, crouched by the door, plucked the carton of lo mein from his captain's hand and chucked it straight at Sentinel and Guide.

Already well-positioned, Jim easily avoided the noodles. His partner and shield was not so lucky. Sandburg's shriek overlapped Simon's shout.

"Get this _out_ of my hair!"

"What in _hell_ is going on?"

Everybody in the bullpen froze, the carnage of their battle strewn across the floor, desks, chairs, and walls. The silence was broken only by wet drips of rice noodles sliding from Blair's curls.

"Umm..." All began to seek logical explanations. Not an easy task when one was facing six feet four of angry police captain.

Brown finally found the strength to verbalize. "Hairboy started it."

Simon glared around at the others. "Anyone care to corroborate this?"

The accused said nothing. He was ineffectually trying to brush Chinese cuisine off his head.

"The fray was already begun when I entered—" Connor began, stopping short when Simon turned to her.

"They got chocolate and grape juice on my paperwork!" Joel protested.

"I was just helping my partner," Rafe offered his own excuse.

Simon shut them all up with one long and long-suffering look, then faced the pair in the center of the disaster area. "And you two?"

"Well, sir, I was trying to keep the order—" Jim was silenced by unanimous disagreement of the other detectives, "Yeah, _right_ —"

"Sandburg." Simon's voice, however soft, quieted them. "So what's your story?"

Blair looked down at the floor, a few errant noodles still draped across his face. "Okay, I'm sorry, I started it. One of my grapes got away."

"And hit me!" Brown seconded.

"It was an accident," Blair admitted in a tiny, pitiful voice.

"At least one of you is mature enough to take responsibility for your actions. Sandburg, go clean up. The rest of you clean up too—this bullpen. I want the floor shining tomorrow." Taking a second look around, "Heck, I just want to be able to _see_ the floor tomorrow." When response was not immediate, "Get moving!"

They moved. As Blair headed out the door the captain called to him, "And come to my office when you're done, Sandburg."

Shoulders slumping, the observer headed for the restroom.

Jim intercepted the captain on the way to his office. "Look, Simon, it really wasn't his fault—"

"Do you see that mop over there? I thought you could. Why don't you go get it?"

"Simon—"

"Look, Jim, I'm not going to keel haul the kid. I'm only going to talk to him." Still, the detective wouldn't get to work until the captain promised his partner would emerge head intact.

Blair entered Simon's office with visible trepidation. The captain was munching on an eggroll. Around it he mumbled, "Sit down."

The anthropologist did so. "Here." Simon handed him a carton of rice. "It's better in your mouth than in your hair."

"You're not going to chew me out?" Blair took the offered chopsticks, eyes wide in amazement.

"Looked like you got your just desserts already." And grinned when the observer winced at the pun. "In fact, it looked like you got a bit extra. Now, I don't mind my men—and women—having a little fun now and again..."

"You don't?" Amazement was replaced by astonishment.

"All work and no play, et cetera." Fact of the matter was, he would have been tempted to join himself, had his dinner not been used as another's arsenal. Decorum of a captain's position aside. Teammanship held the division together, friendships bonded them through all the trials of police work—but what good were friends if you couldn't have fun with them now and again?

All the same, things could go too far—he had really been looking forward to that lo mein. "But they could have gone a little easier on you. I was thinking maybe you'd have some ideas of appropriate discipline for their conduct..."

Reassured, Blair dug into the Chinese with renewed enthusiasm. And as they ate, they plotted their revenge.


End file.
